


stone by stone i sink the sky

by Druddigonite



Series: Bederia Week 2020 [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, and word count, another "this was supposed to be a one-shot", bede and gloria together is an uncontrollable force of nature, dragon!bede, king!leon, prince!hop, squire!gloria, there we go the glorious tag. my favorite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Druddigonite/pseuds/Druddigonite
Summary: Day 4 | FantasyAfter getting caught in the middle of a tragedy, Gloria is sent to slay the feared dragon that caused it.
Relationships: Beet | Bede/Yuuri | Gloria
Series: Bederia Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644379
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	stone by stone i sink the sky

_Once upon a time, they say, there was a legend known far and wide—a tall tale traded between tongues, crossing kingdoms and passing between generations of nobles and peasants alike. A knight, they say, hailing from the lands of Wyndon, risen from the backwaters of Postwick. A slain dragon. A toppled regime._

_The story, they say, went like this:_

* * *

Prince Hop was shirking his studies. Again. 

It wasn’t _his_ fault that the tutor who taught him mathematics and geography was a hook-nosed, pedantic old codger with a face more akin to a melting candle than anything human. Wasn’t _his_ fault his brother’s councilmen didn’t appreciate sword-fighting with sticks or play-wrestling in the dirt. Wasn’t _his_ fault all his peers were stuck-up noble-boys that strutted like roosters or demure noble-girls presented by their fathers as potential suitors, all vying for a chunk of power through the Wyndon King’s gangly teen brother. 

The vines that clung to the castle walls swung precariously against his weight, but held strong as he climbed down. Hop was near the knight’s barracks now—he could see a familiar squire in the distance, trying to lug a saddle to the stables. 

“Oi, Gloria!” He called, making the squire fumble with her saddle. “What are you doing?” 

“Hop!” Gloria gave him a nervous smile. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be busy?” 

The stables smelled of hay and horse manure; save for the horses resting in the stalls, they were alone. Hop threw himself onto a clean pile of straw, staring at rays of light streaming through cracks in the roof. They flickered for a moment, like something large just passed by. “Well, yes. I’m tired of playing along though. They all expect me to be my brother’s right hand. His regent.” 

“Then stay, take a break. Just don’t make me get in trouble for this.” He felt the straw shift as Gloria settled down beside him. She was so different from the other girls, all unabashed honesty and simple compassion. Perhaps it was her peasant heritage, how she was able to defeat boys two times her size with a lethal combination of skill and wit. Her village had disguised her as a boy and endorsed her as a candidate for knighthood to Wyndon, where she was able to become a squire for Sir Kabu, a seasoned senior knight. 

(He was glad they did; Gloria was his only true friend.)

Hop grinned. “Thanks. Enjoying the road to knighthood so far?” 

“Hardly!” That got a scoff out of her. “He makes me run laps around the courtyard, in the sun, _in armor_. Then he tells me to fetch him stuff—mead, wet rags, his horse’s saddle, his gear. I always wake up sore and bruised all over.” She yawned and stretched. “But I don’t regret it. I’d take this over working in the field.” 

“That’s good.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see something that didn’t quite look like a cloud, a wandering shape against blue skies. “I’ll ask the doctor to see to your brui—” 

Then the roof exploded in fire. 

“Hop!” He was flung aside as Gloria shielded him from the worst of the blast. She was shouting something that he couldn’t hear over the roar of the inferno, slamming her shoulder against the wooden door until it gave and they spilled outside. 

He spat dirt. Tried to get up, but fell to the ground again as a shadow passed over him. It was _massive_ ; what seemed like giant feathered wings, too big to be a bird’s, swallowed the expanse of the training grounds in one flap. 

Hop made the mistake of looking up.

A giant wyvern landed on one of the castle towers with a rattling thud, and opened its mouth to engulf the place in flames.

* * *

_There was a dragon._

_This particular one was young, but a menace. Drunk on power, it had razed its way through hinterland villages. The survivors told stories: of an unholy white beast covered in bristling hair, of dragonfire burning purple, of jaws that could snatch you up in one bite. Word traveled fast, but not fast enough—dragonflight, after all, was faster than horseback._

_Because one day, it fancied itself a conqueror of greater things and set its eyes on Wyndon, the crown jewel of the Galar Isles._

_The place lived up to its name. Just beyond wind-blown moors lay a sprawling lake, sparkling clear water edged with aspen trees. And in the center, dark mortar and stone rose to pierce the sky, centuries of heritage standing proud and tall._

_After it had its way with them, those walls would be nothing more than rubble, the lake a cloudy mess of boulders and bodies. And Wyndon? Wyndon would be nothing more than history._

* * *

The shackles Gloria wore were made to restrain a man much larger than she was; they rattled and bit into her wrists as Sir Kabu led her into the throne room, a condemned to the hanging post. 

And when she looked up, there was the executioner, clad in king’s robes and a crown. 

Both she and Kabu knelt before King Leon. It was hard to do with her wrists bound behind her back, but she managed without falling. Her shoulders, still sore from when she smashed through the stable doors, ached when she bent over. Her legs trembled. Her chest screamed. 

“Rise.” Leon said after several seconds. He was known for being jovial with a flair for the dramatic, but today his face spoke of weariness, of distrust, of a man who inherited the throne too soon and saw his kingdom topple before him. “Tell me what happened.” 

“It wasn’t my fault! Hop and I are friends, and he...didn’t want to go to his lessons. So we decided to hang out in the stables for a while before he returned to his duties. Wyndon is...Wyndon was one of the safest places I’ve ever lived in, Your Highness, and I don’t think any of us expected a _dragon_. Ask Hop! He’ll tell you the exact same thing!” 

Leon’s knuckles clenched white. Gloria realised with a sinking feeling why his right-hand post was empty. 

“I would ask my brother,” he said tightly, “if he hasn’t been unconscious for the last three days.” 

The truth wound tight around her neck, and suddenly Gloria couldn’t breathe. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She remembered waking up in a jail cell, hurting all over, Hop nowhere to be seen, _she didn’t know_. “Do you know why? Is he okay?” 

“Hop’s chambers were some of the least damaged areas from the attack. If you had just urged him to return a little bit sooner, he’d still be standing at my side today.” Leon’s fingers grazed his broadsword Wildfire, strapped to his hip. 

The implications were clear: there was only one punishment for treason. 

“But I’m a merciful king, and we’ve lost far too many men already. Hop tells me you’re talented, Gloria, wily in ways my other men are not. I’m entrusting you with a task. Finish it, and I will knight you where you stand. Until then, you are banished.” 

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Tried not to scream. “What’s the task?” 

Leon withdrew something from the folds of his robes and tossed it at Gloria. It hit the floor with the resonance of bones snapping, skidding to a rest at her feet. 

She picked it up. A single white scale, gleaming in the dim castle lights.

“The damned dragon. I want its head.”

* * *

_Before setting out, the knight received some meager supplies: battered armor and a sword from one of the slain knights, a canteen for water, enough food to last a week but nothing more. If he wanted to quickly rebuild his castle before the next invasion strikes, the King couldn’t spare much for a suicide mission._

* * *

Wood was so, so flammable. She hardly recognised what remained of villages, homes burnt until they’re nothing but scorched skeletons of buildings on scarred soil. In the midst of one of them was a woman, a mother of four, whose crops had been wiped out, cattle trampled. She couldn’t feed her family, so Gloria handed her her rations before going on her way.

* * *

_Tracking the dragon was easy—Wyndon was neither the first or last victim of its rampage, and all the knight had to do was follow the path of destruction._

* * *

Along the road she met a boy, no more than eleven; he was travelling to Wyndon to ask for supplies, after his town was left on its last legs from the dragon. She gave him directions and let him drink the last of her water. She would refill it once she found a stream.

* * *

_Catching up to it, however, was the hard part. It was like chasing the horizon; every day the knight comes across a week-old disaster, a too-long passed tragedy, the dragon long gone._

* * *

There was a ramshackle tavern in the middle of nowhere, whose owner offered her a meal and a night’s rest in exchange for her sword and armor. It wasn’t a fair bargain, she knew, but her bones and her stomach spoke louder than her sense of reason, until she finally gave in. The gruel was the best she’d ever tasted, and she slept the most she had in weeks.

* * *

_But the trail was getting warmer. Wheat fields still smoldering, splintered trees recently broken._

_The knight was close._

* * *

__At the foot of the towering Circhester mountains lay the start of the Giant’s River, a winding thing that fed into many smaller streams and bodies, including Wyndon’s lake. The water was rumoured to be the incredibly fresh, and—during rowdy mess hall conversations—restore one’s youth._ _

__Gloria was pretty sure a river like that wasn’t supposed to be red._ _

__Overhead, the branches of trees were violently broken, bits of fur snared on jagged edges as if something heavy had gotten caught through them. Trenches were gouged onto grass and earth. The river was gradually deepening, and up ahead...up ahead…_ _

__So _that_ was where the red was coming from. _ _

__When she finally caught up, she expected to face a quarry with teeth as long as sabers and wings that could shadow the sky, face it with her armor and her sword and grim resolution. But fate was a fickle thing, and here she stood in a fraying tunic and clutching a small knife, facing a ball of a boy curled amid the current._ _

__White hair slick against head. Tattered clothing blooming crimson on gold, shedding dark blood into the river below. He was holding his abdomen tightly; when the river lapped against his body, she saw crimson seep past his fingers. There were three deep gouge marks—work of dragon's claws._ _

__Gloria made her way to the boy, until she was close enough to note the weak flutter of his chest. He seemed unconscious._ _

__“Who did this to you?” she whispered._ _

__When she took another step, the boy opened its eyes and _looked_ into her. _ _

__His eyes were narrowed into draconic slits—eyes the deepest violet she’d ever seen, clouded pain and smoldering, grim resolution._ _

_“The damned dragon. I want its head.”_

__Gloria hefted her knife, held it poised like a verdict. He stared and stared and stared, blood staining its mouth, and there was something so human in that defiance that she could not look away._ _

__It would be over soon._ _

* * *

_They fought, claws on iron, scales on steel. The dragon was big, but the knight was wily; knew the weak chinks of its underbelly, how to dodge its flames._

_It fell. The knight stood over it, sword poised over the dragon’s head._

_And with one decisive blow, they painted the rivers red._

* * *

In the end, she couldn’t bear to kill him. 

__Gloria was sent to slay a dragon, not behead a man. Death would solve nothing; whoever put him in this state was _dangerous_ , and she had a gut feeling that killing its only adversary was a bad choice. _ _

__She doubted Leon would accept a human head, anyways._ _

__He’d somehow found the strength to struggle when she was carrying him to a nearby cave, sheltered from the elements. Bared his teeth to show unnaturally sharp incisors, tried to stand up and scoot away despite the gaping claw wounds on his chest._ _

__When she grabbed his armpits to drag him out of the river, he actually _hissed at her_. _ _

__Incensed, she dropped him with less care than she should’ve, watching as he choked on his snarl. “Let me make this clear: I don’t think you’re the real threat, so I’m not going to kill you. Instead, I’m going to tend to you until those scratches heal, and in exchange, you will cooperate with me and not burn any more villages and _stay still_.”_ _

__The boy raised his chin at her, defiant._ _

__“You’re playing a dangerous game, little knight.”_ _

__“Maybe,” she countered, “But even dragons can die to infection.”_ _

__She glanced at him; took in the pallid sheen of his skin, the rippling scars etched across his arms. He’s only a head taller than her, she realised, frail frame nearly swallowed by the shadows of the cave._ _

__“I’m here to help, if you’ll let me,” she added, a little softer, “My name’s Gloria.”_ _

__She met his eyes again, and, for the first time, he averted his gaze_ _

__“Bede.” He said._ _

__It was a pact and a promise all in one._ _

* * *

__She gathered herbs from the area: yarrow, musk mallow, thyme. Tore the hem of her tunic into strips and washed them in the now-clean river. It had been a long time since she’d seen her mother prepare poultices, but the memories came naturally—of countless patched bruises and cuts she’d accumulated with the village boys, before she’d beaten them all and was shipped to Wyndon for further training._ _

__(Bede had simply watched her as she was dressing him. She half expected him to protest, to lash back—volatile bastard as he was—but he sat stock-still as she wrapped the linen around his stomach with ghost-like delicacy. When Gloria looked up at him, he’d smirked, all fangs and sharp angles, like even this cooperation was an act of spite.)_ _

__They subsisted on plants and mushrooms for a while, but those quickly ran out. He was still healing, couldn’t help forage; she didn't want to give him a chance to escape while she scouted for further food sources._ _

__“There’s a village just north of the mountains,” Bede mentioned, offhandedly, as he watched Gloria sharpen her knife for the umpteenth time. His wounds were healing nicely, and he had become almost conversational, talking as if the conversation was a battleground and he was there to prove his worth. “You humans trade, do you not? I’m sure they’ll offer some meat in exchange for your forest finds.”_ _

__Gloria regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t know you thought so highly of the villages you plan to burn to the ground.”_ _

__“I don’t destroy _all_ the places I come across.” _ _

__“Only most of them.”_ _

__“To carry out an agenda.” He hauled himself up from where he’d been sitting, wincing from sore muscles. “Dragonfire isn’t breathing—it’s rigorous and tiring to produce. Do you think I do this for fun?”_ _

__She opened her mouth, then closed it. What sharp retort that had been brewing in her mind died at her throat. This wasn’t what she expected. “You didn’t see the aftermath. Hundreds of people won’t be able to survive the winter thanks to you. Nothing is worth sacrificing this many lives.”_ _

__“You don’t know what the future entails. This is damage control.”_ _

__Gloria didn’t know what she should be more concerned with: that the dragon believed he was justified killing people to prevent a possibility, or the possibility he may be right._ _

__"It doesn't matter anymore," Bede muttered, breaking her out of her thoughts, "Let the world burn. I could care less now."_ _

__He continued. "My human form heals faster than my dragon form, so I won't be doing anything for the last few weeks. Go to the village, I'd be foolish to leave."_ _

__Her blade slid off the whetstone with a shink. She held it up to the dim light, watching his eyes trail after its gleam. The suggestion was tempting. “But how can I trust your word? You aren’t the most reliable...creature.”_ _

__“Creature? Oh please, if I wanted to I would have already pounced on you while you were sleeping. Would’ve been much less messy in the long term.” He crossed his arms, pointedly turning away. Gloria seethed at his back._ _

__Oh, not if she struck him _first_._ _

* * *

__The village was gone._ _

__Bede was right, in a way; she could recognize the signs of _something in the area_. The rest, however, had been reduced to ashes under her boots, flaking away beneath mountain winds. If the previous towns were laid to ruins, this one was entirely wiped out of existence.. _ _

__The sting of smoke still lingered in her lungs when she burst into their campsite again, startling Bede awake from where he’d dozed off._ _

__“Do you mind?” He muttered, stretching his arms out like how a bird unfurled its wings. She saw the remnants of his previous dressing lying beside him—since last week, he’d insisted on dressing himself—before she crossed the clearing to stand over him._ _

__“Village is gone.”_ _

__She got to see a stormcloud of confusion cross his eyes before stilling in the calm waters of his composure. “I’m pretty sure villages don’t run away. Ground view is limiting; maybe you didn’t see it over the mountains.”_ _

__“No, I mean it’s _gone_. Nothing but a scorch mark on the ground, like the entire thing was put in a furnace.” _ _

__Bede didn’t move a muscle. She expected a burst of emotion from him, maybe another dose of defensiveness or roiling anger or something close to grief, but the volume of his silence spoke loudly enough._ _

__“You didn’t do it.” It wasn’t a question._ _

__“No.” Then he threw his head back and barked out a laugh, high-pitched and frantic. “Looks like the Queen Wyrm herself picked up where I left off! Good to know they don’t need me anymore, cast off wounded and stripped of pride to die.”_ _

__Something gleamed near her rucksack, and she stooped down to pick it up. It was the dragon scale—Bede’s scale—that Leon had originally handed her, tragedy’s memento. There was still danger; she was a squire, a knight-in-training, and there were still dragons to slay._ _

__“We’re leaving,” Gloria said, “I need to get back to Wyndon, and you’re coming with me.”_ _

__“What? You can’t possibly.” he spoke as she began packing (enough water for the road, roots and herbs. They’d have to forage or barter later) “What makes you think that I would follow you? I am not the hostage here—”_ _

__“You’re being hunted,” she interrupted, strapping her sack shut with a _click_ of finality. “I found you injured and bleeding out. If whoever— _whatever_ —did that to you finds out your alive, I’ll bet The Great King Leon’s throne that they’ll come after you to finish the job. It’s why you’ve sat in this cave for so long: you needed to hide and heal.”_ _

__She glanced over at Bede, feeling a rush of satisfaction when she saw him silent and listening for the first time since she’s dragged his body out of the river._ _

__“Which is why you need me,” she plowed on, “Your wounds are still healing and can rip open at any moment. We’re going to need to stop at the towns that didn’t get burnt down to exchange for food and supplied, and from what I’ve seen from you, you can’t pass for even a peasant. I’ll help you navigate towns—traveling knights aren’t uncommon, and nobody would bat an eye if I brought you along—so you can give me information on _what on earth_ is terrorizing everyone and help me save my kingdom.” _ _

__He stared at her, long after she trailed off, and for a drawn-out heartbeat they came to a standstill of stubbornness. Then Bede dipped his head with a huff that sounded suspiciously like amusement. “Might as well, I’ve been getting tired of this damn cave.”_ _

__“Wait!” Gloria jolted up as he began standing. “Your wound, you can’t…”_ _

__“I’m fine.” To prove a point, he stripped off the linens wrapped around his stomach to reveal nothing but a silvery scar stretched against pale skin. “Been so for a while now. Dragonsblood does that to you. Well?” He turned to find her gaping at him. “Do you know the route?”_ _

__“R-right.” Curse him, curse his smug aura, the audacity to get a one-over on her as revenge. “So we need to follow the river, head in the direction of…”_ _

* * *

__There will always be a nagging part of her that thinks it’s a suicide mission, a squire-girl allied with her quarry through a fraying truce, setting out with lofty dreams of saving a ruined kingdom. But things could’ve been worse, Gloria thinks, and in the end this was no less suicide than her original task._ _

__Bede stood next to her in front of the castle gates. They’d managed to switch out his blood-stained tunic for a cotton shirt and boiled leather vest; he tapped his foot impatiently on the sands of the lake bank as they waited for the bridge to lower._ _

__She’d managed to pass the message beforehand that she had important information for the king, and the guards were told to let her pass._ _

__The bridge hit dirt with a resounding thud. It had been a long time since she breathed the lake air of her castle, saw castle walls cleave sky. Bede trailed a meter behind, glancing at where new masonry merged with old remnants._ _

__(Bringing the dragon back as a guest. She hoped this wasn’t a mistake.)_ _

__“Welcome back to Wyndon.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> [dragon bede concept art on my tumblr](https://druddigoon.tumblr.com/post/611043090701139968/this-is-the-most-overdone-idea-at-this-point-but)


End file.
